Chapter 3: Mage of the Empire

As Tavin approached the crowd, his worries began to grow. Was what Benett said true? If everyone’s fires went out at once, surely it was only a matter of time until they discovered him. Bloodsold were feared as often as they were celebrated; they could do incredible and terrifying things, and while some adored their deeds, others grew uneasy. And who were these strangers? Could someone from one of the big cities already heard about it and made their way here?

He was sure that the village mayor was addressing the worried townsfolk, but couldn’t hear anything except the chattering murmur. He skirted along the edges of the crowd but couldn’t find an opening to get closer. Eventually, he picked someone and tapped them on the shoulder.

"What’s going on?" Tavin asked.

"A Mage of the Empire and her apprentice are here, but that’s all I know," the man said.

A Mage of the Empire? Tavin had heard the title, but knew little about it except that one thing: they were powerful Bloodsold. He tried to worm his way closer to overhear anything useful, but it seemed that everyone in town had the same idea. Tavin relaxed a bit—if a Bloodsold was here, it meant no one suspected him of anything.

"Enough, enough!" A booming voice cut through the din. "Quiet down!"

To everyone’s relief, everyone else seemed to listen, and the roar faded to a still quietness. A moment later, the mayor’s head popped up above the crowd. Some folks in the front remembered themselves and ducked down for others to see, and others followed their lead. Harstead Brint, the mayor, stood on a rain barrel with his hands held up to address the crowd.

"I know this is unusual for our little town, but I assure you there’s no need to panic!" he said. He always had the trick with his voice, able to make his deep tones carry whenever they needed to.

An old woman stood next to him. She had long hair, once black but now mostly gray, that spun in tight curls going halfway down her back. She was thin but wiry, still stood up straight, and carried a long walking stick. She wore traveler’s clothes, soft leathers beneath a short cape that wrapped around her shoulders. Something about her was off. It took him a moment, but Tavin realized that her brown eyes weren’t just sharp, but somehow more... alive. They looked like the eyes of someone much younger. She never stopped scanning the crowd, but wore a confident smile.

Beside her stood a younger woman. About the same age as Tavin, she stood with a relaxed stillness that somehow gave the impression that she could leap into action at any moment. Her long, straight, dark brown hair was tied into a simple ponytail that trailed down past her shoulders. She wore a sleeveless gray top and short pants that ended halfway down her shins; the air was chilly today, but she didn’t seem bothered at all. Her eyes were the same color as her shirt—gray, with just a hint of blue.

The young woman’s eyes caught Tavin’s, and his heart suddenly skipped a beat. He could feel himself blushing already—when she stared at him, her eyes took on an intense beauty that he had previously overlooked. He was having trouble breathing. She maintained her gaze with his for a long moment before he made himself break it off.

"Now, this..." continued the mayor, gesturing to the old woman, "is Chalea. She’s here on official Empire business. She assures me that there’s no cause for alarm, this is just a part of her job. The young woman next to her is her apprentice."

"You’re Bloodsold, aren’t you?" someone from the crowd called out. The mayor took in a breath to respond, but Chalea spoke before he could.

"I am. An official Mage of the Empire, in fact," she said. Her voice was coarse, but she didn’t speak harshly. It was just a simple statement of fact.

"What are you doing here?" another called. Chalea's smile widened.

"I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But rest easy, the Empire only wants what’s best for its people, and that includes you. In any case, we’ll likely only be here a couple of days."

Two or three more questions all came at once in an indecipherable mess, and the mayor silenced them.

"Now, listen," he bellowed. "I think we’d all be best off if we just let her do her work and move on. I’ll speak with her about last night’s incident. Move along now, please."

Reluctantly, and with more shoo-ing from Harstead, the crowd dispersed. He climbed down from his makeshift stage and spoke with the Bloodsold in quiet, but more ordinary tones. Before long, they headed off towards his office in the town hall.

Tavin needed to speak with them—with her. But he wasn’t going to badger them now; he would keep his eyes open and find his chance. He went back to the town square, found a safe place to put his pack, and started asking around for work to do.

* * *

A few hours later, Tavin climbed down from the roof of a tailor’s shop and wiped sweat from his brow. The tailor in question, an old man named Ranis, handed him a few copper coins. Tavin counted it out.

"You gave me two too many," he said as he held his hand out to return them.

"No, I didn’t," Ranis said, and closed Tavin’s fingers around the coins with his weathered hands. Tavin saw the sadness in the old man’s eyes as he took his hands away.

"Oh. ...thanks," Tavin said. He hated this. He wasn’t going to reject the old man’s kindness, he needed the coin, and Ranis knew that. But he hated the pity. He hated that he had no choice but to accept. He hadn’t even done a very good job replacing the roof’s shingles. Sure, he had tried his best, and they would hold up well enough, but he just couldn’t get the ones he replaced to look as good as the others. The old man turned and went inside.

Tavin gathered up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. It was always like this, ever since his parents passed. It was the biggest tragedy that Varenwald had seen for a long time.

Four years ago, when the river flooded, a few buildings on the outskirts of town were lost. Together, Tavin’s folks had bravely gone into a home that was already half-submerged, looking for a trapped child. While they were inside, the entire thing collapsed, swept up by the freezing water. Miraculously, the child had survived... but his parents did not. The family moved away not long after that.

Ever since then, that was the only way people seemed to know Tavin. The Delaron boy, who lost his parents in the flood. But he would change that. He already *had* changed that. Rough start or not, Tavin was Bloodsold now, and it was only a matter of time until he mastered his abilities and could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted.

Maybe he could become a famous bounty hunter. Maybe he would join the ranks of the Empire’s mages, and earn fame and recognition that way. Or maybe he would simply continue doing odd jobs, using his abilities to do things that only he could do. At least, that was his plan if he made the right pact. But with his power as it was now... what could he do? He was lost again.

The sun was just setting, and as it did it painted the sky in pinks and oranges. Despite feeling tired, Tavin couldn’t get his restless thoughts to calm; there was little point in heading home. He threw his pack on his shoulder and headed toward the town’s only inn and likely spot where that girl and her Bloodsold teacher stayed: The Scattered Flower.